


O Christmas Tree

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [13]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas fic, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, POV Brian Kinney, POV Justin Taylor, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2850296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With their first Christmas in New York approaching, Justin suggests that he and Brian get a Christmas tree to call their own. When this suggestion is met with a resounding 'no', their holiday cheer is threatened by an untimely and unpleasant fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I'm on holiday and supposed to be holidaying, I was hit with a strong dose of inspiration and couldn't help but indulge it! I hope you enjoy this Christmas fic, but more importantly, I hope everyone is enjoying safe and happy holidays :)

The weather outside is frightful. Actually, it’s long past frightful; as Justin stares out the bedroom window at the rain that’s bucketing down, an unpleasant shiver ripples through him. Everything outside is pitch black, soaking wet, and icy cold. So much for a nice first Christmas in New York - so far, this one is bleak as anything. It’s utterly depressing. Plus it’s chilling to look at, even from inside their warm apartment.

Before the cold can set in, Justin scurries back to bed and curls up around Brian. “What are you reading?”

“Lindsay sent it,” Brian says, sneering. “It’s some goddamned parenting guidebook written for helicopter dykes. She and Melanie want me to ‘be on the same page’, i.e. read this insulting waste of paper and memorise all their insipid smothering strategies.”

Justin glances at the page that Brian’s staring daggers at. True enough, the advice does seem utterly insipid. Kissing Brian’s shoulder, Justin murmurs, “You don’t need this. You’re an amazing father.”

Brian forces a smile and grinds out, “Can you let the munchers know that I don’t need this parenting-by-numbers bullshit?”

“They know,” Justin says, stroking his arm reassuringly. “They probably just want to make sure that there’s a sense of continuity. That’s what my parents did after they split up - they exchanged info all the time so that they were being consistent with Molly.”

“Hmmm,” Brian murmurs, sounding doubtful.

Sensing that the book is more trouble than it’s worth, Justin grabs it and places it aside. Then he eases into Brian’s lap and kisses him.

“Christmas is coming,” Justin says, as Brian starts kissing his neck. Before Brian can make some filthy innuendo, Justin hastily continues, “We should start decorating.”

“Decorating?” Brian snorts. “When have we ever?”

Justin shrugs. “We haven’t, but that doesn’t mean we can’t this year. It’s our first Christmas here - we should make it special.”

“How will decorating make it special?”

“It’ll be nice, I-”

“Besides, we’ll be in Pittsburgh for Christmas.”

“We won’t be there until the 24th,” Justin corrects, running his hands through Brian’s hair. “We have almost all of December here. We should get a tree.”

Brian shakes his head and contests, “It’ll rot by the time we’re home.”

Justin considers their timeline: two weeks in Pittsburgh and then three in Toronto. Brian’s foretelling is probably quite accurate. Smiling, he suggests, “So we’ll get a plastic one.”

Brian wrinkles his nose. “Those things are ugly as shit. Besides, where are we going to store it for the eleven other months of the year when we won’t be using it?”

“Well-” 

But before Justin can even voice any of the ideas he’s entertaining, Brian interrupts with more ranting and raving. “And why decorate when the entire city is shrouded in tinsel? Seriously, go to the window and look across the street. Or go for a walk - you won’t have to go far.”

“I’d like to have something closer to home,” Justin says. “Something that’s just for the two of us.”

“It’s a waste of time and money,” scoffs Brian, his nose wrinkling disdainfully.

Feeling as though he’s been scalded, Justin recoils. He leaps out of Brian’s lap and moves to the other far end of the bed. With his arms folded across his chest, he demands, “Us celebrating Christmas is a waste of time and money?”

Rolling his eyes, Brian intones condescendingly, “There are ways of celebrating Christmas that don’t involve falling prey to capitalist rhetoric.”

“You’re the biggest proponent of capitalist rherotic there is!” Infuriated, Justin gets out of bed and stands at the foot of it, glaring at Brian. “You’re the dark fucking overlord of advertising. Two days ago, you spent three hundred dollars on a goddamned button-up. I see you showing off your black Amex almost as often as I see your cock-”

Bolting upright, Brian interjects angrily, “What’s your point?”

“My point is that you’re a total hypocrite! You spent a shitload of money on couture and your ridiculously elite gym membership-”

“- _our_ ridiculously elite gym membership; I signed you up too!”

“-but you can’t get it up to spend a fraction of that on a tree and a few decorations?” Justin can feel himself getting angrier by the second. It has a whole lot to do with the irritatingly stony expression on Brian’s face. “You don’t even have to pay! I can afford it. And I don’t mind spending money on this, so long as we have a tree to call our own and decorate together.”

Brian scoffs again, which stings a hell of a lot. He doesn’t seem to notice that Justin is hurt, though, considering that he barrels right on and snarks, “Whilst holding hands and singing  _All I Want For Christmas Is You?”_

“Fuck you,” Justin spits. “And fucking forget it. Sorry I even mentioned it.”

He starts to head for the door, but halts before he leaves. “Are you going to say anything?”

Looking at him blankly, Brian says, “If there’s something that you think needs to be said, you go right ahead and say it, Sunshine.”

“Don’t fucking ‘Sunshine’ me, you asshole.” Justin stares at Brian, confronted by a hoard of unpleasant things that he wants to say, and a small collection of things that he  _needs_ to say. But now he feels like he can’t, or Brian will respond with another scoff, or maybe an eye-roll, or a dismissive laugh. The sense of crushing loneliness that slams into him is disturbing.

Aren’t they supposed to be past this now?

Haven’t things changed?

Justin knows that he ought to say something. He won’t say the things he wants to, because they’re unnecessarily cruel and completely unhelpful. He can’t bring himself to say the things he needs to, because he’s terrified it will fall on deaf ears. And why should he say something, when Brian isn’t saying anything? The asshole is just staring at him, totally expressionless, looking exactly like the person that used to shut Justin down and shut him out constantly.

So all he says is, “Forget it. It was a stupid idea.”

This time, when he turns to leave, Brian does call after him. Justin ignores it. He goes into the living room and sits for a while, staring at the spot where he had hoped they would put the tree. He’s been entertaining fantasies for weeks now: dragging a tree home with Brian’s help, setting it up, unpacking the decorations, working together to bring Christmas into their home. Apparently that’s not going to happen - at least, not like he’d imagined.

Eventually, Brian wanders past the living room en route to the kitchen. As he circles back with a beer in hand, he imparts vaguely, “I never said I didn’t want to celebrate Christmas with you.”

And then he’s gone.

Justin refuses to go after him. He thinks about shouting:  _what the fuck does that even mean?_  But he feels too miserable and too fed up to do so. So apparently they’re back here again, to this place of uncertainty where Brian is ready and willing to mandate what he  _won’t_ do, but doesn’t specify what he  _will_ do. Justin had really thought that they were beyond that, but apparently not. Heavy with disappointment and exhaustion, Justin heads into the guestroom and sinks into that bed. He stares out the small window at the sheets of rain falling down and thinks how much nicer it looks out there compared to in here.

*

As soon as Brian wakes up, he’s greeted by a shitty mood. It’s instantly made shittier when he realises that Justin isn’t in their bed. The stubborn little shit must still be holed up in the guestroom.

Brian _hates_ it when he does that. He’s grown very accustomed to sharing a bed with Justin, and Justin damn well knows that. Sleeping in the guestroom is a giant ‘fuck you’ designed to piss Brian off. And it’s working. It’s working incredibly fucking well.

Brian sits up in bed and reaches for a cigarette. As he takes a lengthy drag, he replays their fight bit-by-bit. It was such a stupid fucking fight to have. It would be even stupider to stretch it out. Brian is also slightly inclined to believe that it might have been his fault. Guiltily, he reels through a list of his sins: rejecting Justin’s fairly innocuous suggestion, getting angry and letting that anger turn into shutting down, going to bed pissed when he could have fixed this last night.

Of course, this isn’t  _entirely_  his fault. Some blame lies with Melanie and Lindsay for having the goddamned audacity to send him that atrocious ‘parenting’ handbook. Why not just send him a letter certifying that they see him as incompetent? That’s not even the worst part; the worst part is what was in that godawful book - all that preachy bullshit advocating for an overdose of overprotectiveness. Brian doesn’t want his kid raised like that.

But that’s an issue for another day. Brian forces himself to set it aside so that he can focus on Justin. Justin, who only wanted a Christmas tree. It’s not an idea that particularly thrills Brian, but it’s not like he’ll keel over and die if they end up having a plastic monstrosity crowding their new home. He’ll probably survive it. Hell, he might  _(might)_  even enjoy it. Justin’s suggestion for decorating it together didn’t sound entirely unpleasant, after all. In fact, it actually sounded kind of nice. And isn’t that always how it turns out, when Justin asks for things that Brian previously deemed a no-go? He’s grown quite fond of many of these things. Maybe decorating a plastic monstrosity will prove similarly pleasing.

Either way - whether they get a tree or they don’t - Brian is fed up with the empty bed in which he is currently residing. Given that this is their first weekend off together in ages, Brian decides to bring their stupid squabble to a halt. After taking one final drag of his cigarette, he extinguishes it. Time to get up and get this shit sorted.

He drags himself out of bed and gets dressed, then heads straight to the guestroom... where Justin isn’t. Brian curses and searches the apartment, but the brat has done a flawless job of making himself scarce. Finally, he heads to the window and peers out of the rain-dappled glass. Of fucking course; Justin is downstairs, smoking. Brian grabs his coat and slips on his shoes, then heads out in pursuit of his sulky partner.

But by the time he’s outside the building, Justin is gone. Brian curses again (more graphically, this time, which garners him a glare from one of their neighbours) and scans the street, expecting to see Justin heading east towards his studio. Instead, he glimpses Justin heading in the other direction.

Where the fuck is he going?

After a moment of deliberation, Brian decides to take a page out of Justin’s book and follows him. He keeps a distance so that Justin remains within sight, but doesn’t catch on to the fact that Brian has turned into a full-on stalker. As they head uptown, Brian starts to feel a vague sense of dread curdling in the pit of his stomach. He starts to hope against hope that they’re not heading to where he thinks they’re heading... but then Justin veers onto 34th Street, and Brian knows he’s fucked.

He stops and takes some time to weigh up his options: follow Justin into Macy’s, which is overflowing with a nightmarish amount of Christmas shoppers, or head right back home. The place is bound to be a hellscape of pushy tourists and pushier New Yorkers, which Brian is in no mood for. Then again, heading home will only prolong their fight and delay a resolution. Brian wants to see it resolved, and resolved soon. He hates fighting with Justin, especially when he has a sneaking suspicion that it may be his fault. Well, it was a ‘sneaking suspicion’ last night when he went to bed. Now it’s lit up in flashing neon lights.

Finally, he decides to sacrifice his sanity in order to pursue his partner. Brian pushes through the throng of tourists crowding the street and charges into Macy’s. Fortunately, he has a very good idea of where Justin will be, so he heads in that direction. Brian is simultaneously pleased and pissed when he’s proven right: there Justin is, in the Christmas section, glowering at the Christmas trees. Brian pushes yet another tourist out of the way and storms towards him.

Instead of immediately apologising and trying to make amends (fuck that), Brian takes the low road and demands hotly, “What are you doing here?”

Justin reels around and stares at Brian with widened eyes. Brian stares right back, refusing to budge. Amends can be made later. Right now, his shitty mood is begging to be indulged, especially since he’s been forced to enter fucking Macy’s at fucking Christmastime. 

“I want a tree, so I’m getting a tree,” Justin snaps, now avoiding Brian’s gaze in favour of aggressively perusing the aisle of trees. 

After shooting a quick glare at the asshole tourist who’s just bumped into him whilst trying to take a picture of the ornaments hanging from the ceiling, Brian folds his arm across his chest and snarks, “And where exactly do you plan on putting said tree?”

“At my studio.” The words are ice-cold and rigid with resentful resignation. Then, under his breath, Justin mutters, “Or up your ass, you goddamn-”

Brian doesn’t wait to hear the rest. He grabs Justin’s arm and hauls him into a quiet alcove, where he corners the brat by backing him up against the wall and planting his hands on either side of Justin’s head. This forces Justin to look at him,  _finally._

With narrowed eyes and a tight jaw, Justin snaps,  _”What?”_

In the back of Brian’s mind, dozens of possibilities for how to start this conversation float around. Without a moment’s hesitation, he chooses the most biting one: “Why the fuck are you being such a moody little princess about this?” 

Justin’s mouth drops open. Outraged, he retorts, “Why the fuck are you being such a frigid, unfeeling caricature about this?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Justin pauses, sighs, then tries to worm away from Brian as he mutters, “Never fucking mind.”

Brian grabs the lapel of Justin’s jacket and holds him firmly. “Not so fast. Since when are you gunshy? Out with it - tell me what you meant by that.”

Justin sighs again and sags against the wall. Eyeing Brian warily, he begins, “I meant that you’re acting like  _Brian Kinney_ instead of just... you. I get that  _Brian Kinney_ wouldn’t want a tree, and he wouldn’t want to decorate it together, and he would consider it some unnecessarily cloying venture into consumerist co-dependence. But I thought that you... I thought you might feel differently.”

It’s plainly evident that Justin doesn’t feel all that comfortable with this conversation. He seems slightly nervous and a patch guilty. Brian hates it. He steps in closer and moves his hand from grasping Justin’s jacket to cupping his face. The soft touch seems to relax Justin a little. Quietly, he continues, “You moved here for me. You bought us that beautiful apartment. You re-painted the bedroom with me. You... I don’t know, you said that you wanted this - a life together.”

“I do,” Brian cuts in forcefully. “You  _know_ I do, tree or no tree.”

“I know,” Justin says, reaching up to grab the front of Brian’s sweater. He tugs on it, urging Brian closer. “I just like the idea of that life including a tree. You know, last night... it was like it used to be. You telling me ‘no’ without giving me any indication of what you would say ‘yes’ to.”

“There are lots of things,” Brian says. “Tell me some of yours.”

“I don’t know,” Justin sighs, “It’s stupid, I-”

“It’s not stupid. Tell me.”

That brings a smile to Justin’s face. Wistfully, he muses, “I just thought we could make a tradition. A new one, you know? Something for the two of us... or not. I mean, maybe some years, Gus could visit and help us decorate the tree. Or we could use the decorations that he and J.R. make in school. Or maybe we could have the family here for Christmas, in which case we’ll need a tree, unless you want Deb to cut our balls off.”

Brian laughs, which sparks the beginnings of a bigger smile on Justin’s face. Easing closer, he says softly, “Plus, my mom sent a huge parcel full of decorations the other day. We always used to decorate the tree together - her, me, and Molly. Sometimes Daph, too, because she always liked that Mom would hang up our decorations whereas her family tree always looked like it fell out of a Vogue spread.”

Curiously noting the omission of a certain someone, Brian queries, “What about your dad?”

With a huff and a roll of his eyes, Justin complains, “He was either at work or he would just sit on the couch watching us decorate. Sometimes he’d pick on Mom and bitch about her using too much tinsel.”

Seeing Justin’s face cloud at this mention of Craig immediately saddens Brian. He leans in and kisses Justin’s forehead, then each of his cheeks, hoping that the tenderness will lift some of those clouds away. It seems to work well enough; Justin smiles a little and kisses Brian’s cheek in return. Then he says softly, “We don’t have to have a tree if you really don’t want one. I’m sure there are other ways that we can celebrate together, and we can talk about those. I only thought it might be nice... it always struck me as something families do, and we’re family, so...”

The words  _we’re family_ flow through Brian, filling him with some unnameable thing. He has thought of Justin as family for years, so it’s hardly a revelation, but it does serve as a reminder: that he  _does_  want the life that they’re forging together, and that he ought to be mindful of what kind of life that’s going to be. Brian refuses to be Craig Taylor, pissing all over Justin’s Christmas. He refuses to be a caricature, favouring stubbornly held traditions over new and promising ones. So he presses one more kiss lightly to Justin’s lips, then whispers, “Tell me that it matters to you.”

Justin gazes at him for some time before finally saying, “It matters to me.”

“That was all you needed to say.” Brian kisses Justin’s forehead once more. “Just so you know.”

Then he grabs Justin’s scarf and leads him back towards the sprawling section of trees, but veers right away from the pitifully small ones Justin was looking at. Instead, Brian makes a beeline for the bigger, pricier trees, which look pleasingly elegant. As he starts browsing, he feels Justin’s arms wrap around his middle. Justin kisses the nape of his neck and whispers, “I want to top tonight. It matters to me.”

Brian laughs and turns to face Justin, who is now sporting an incredibly mischievous grin. Brian grins back and quips, “I thought you wanted to shove a Christmas tree up there?”

“I’d much rather shove my dick up there,” Justin says, his grin stretching even more devilishly wide.

“Sounds good to me,” Brian chuckles, tugging Justin close for another kiss. “Now, which one do you want?”

Without even looking at the surrounding trees, Justin smiles at Brian and asks, “Which one do  _you_ want?”

Brian glances around and settles on a tree mounted on a platform. It’s white with frosted branches and is gleaming under the shop’s spotlights, which are trained on it with precision. It’s by far the nicest tree in the shop and though it’s plastic, it certainly doesn’t strike Brian as a monstrosity. He pulls Justin close and points to the tree. “That one might look nice.”

“That one’s beautiful,” Justin says, quite glowingly, echoing Brian’s thoughts. The tree is beautiful, it will fit in perfectly with their beautiful home, and most importantly, it has brought the most beautiful smile to Justin’s face. Assured that they’ve made the right choice (conventionally consumerist though it may be), Brian signals to a passing employee and starts making arrangements.

Of course, Justin insists on dragging the thing home instead of paying for delivery, and he convinces Brian by leaning in close, kissing him sweetly, and murmuring cheekily, “It matters to me.” Brian relents and resigns himself to lugging the massive box back down Sixth. As they make their way home, Brian eyeballs Justin and warns, “You can’t go using that line every time you have a passing fancy.”

Justin grins. “Topping you isn’t a passing fancy. It’s one of my great passions in life.”

Laughing, Brian replies, “I figured.”

And since they’re almost entirely alone (although it wouldn’t really matter if they weren’t), he smirks at Justin and adds, “You’re a very talented top, you know.”

“I learned from the master.” Justin smirks right back, then nods and warns, “Watch out for the puddle.”

Brian dodges it. As Justin steers them and the box along Bleecker, he says, “By the way, I promise I won’t go overboard. It might matter to me that we have a tree together, but it  _also_ matters to me that we don’t become one of those couples who send out gross couple cards or who wear matching snowman sweaters.”

“We could send out cards. There’s lots of great pictures of us,” Brian says calmly, shrugging, which almost makes Justin crash into a wall. Snickering at Justin’s shocked expression, he adds, “We could use the one we took the other night.”

It takes a moment for Justin to place it. When he does, he bursts out laughing and cries incredulously, “You mean the one of us fucking on the coffee table?!”

Grinning, Brian queries, “What would possibly bring more cheer than that?”

Justin laughs even louder, his entire face lit up. “I’ll tell you what - once we’ve set up the tree, we’ll take some photos of us underneath it... and me underneath you.”

Snickering, Brian teases, “Singing  _All I Want For Christmas Is You?”_

“Fucking watch it,” Justin laughs, turning the corner towards their building, “Or I’ll make us wear ugly Christmas sweaters while we do it.”

“You’d better not.” Brian kicks a puddle, splashing Justin’s leg playfully. “I think the tree will suffice.”

Justin glances at the box then back at Brian, grinning brightly enough to light up the gloomy wintry day. “It sure will.”

**The End**


End file.
